


Beauty's Beast

by Kitannax



Series: Fallout Fics [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hate Sex, Kinks, Masturbation, Multichapter, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, dubcon, ghoulfucking, hatefucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitannax/pseuds/Kitannax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An amoral Lone Wanderer secretly in love with her bodyguard. Charon, convinced he hates her as much as he loves her. When guards are let down, their relationship ignites, full of sexual passion and surprisingly pure affection; but lines blur and sometimes it's hard to tell who's really the beast in their relationship.</p><p> </p><p>(Slow burn Charon x F!Lone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charon

He hates her; or, so he tells himself. She's not as bad as some employers he's had in the past, definitely not as bad as Ahzrukhal, but she's bad in her own way. Foul mouthed, violent, with more than a little bad attitude. Yeah. She's definitely not the nicest. Still, she doesn't beat him, she has the decency to use his name when she speaks to him, and she keeps him well supplied with ammunition for his shotgun. Those make her tolerable. 

 

That's not to say if he didn't have the opportunity, he wouldn't hurt her beyond belief for frustrating him. At least she likes ghouls - the non feral kind anyway - doesn't treat his kind any differently than her own. At this point, she's something of a mystery to him. On one hand he loathes her, loathes her violence and language. On the other, when the few moments of goodness shine through the cracks in her armor - when she is less than indifferent to the suffering of others, when she brings irradiated water to ghoul children to heal their scraped knees, or when she puts a bullet in a raider for hurting an innocent. He wants to believe that side of her is her real self, but honestly he's not sure. 

 

The door to her house in Megaton clangs shut behind him; he turns and slides the heavy bolts home - raiders and gangs don't come through the city, but they can never be too careful. When he turns back around, she's heading for the stairs, Nuka Cola in one hand, vodka and what looks like a sweet roll in the other.

"Make yourself useful." She directs before disappearing. A brief trip to the cupboard where food is kept shows him that she's left the last box of sugar bombs for him. Another small, kind gesture - somehow she knows they're his favorite, and somehow she always leaves a box for him. He appreciates that as he snags a handful, and that's saying something; it's very rare that they have appreciation for each other. Mostly because it's very rare that he appreciates or approves of anything she does. 

 

He settles himself down on the creaky old couch, amusing himself with taking apart the shotgun he carries everywhere. He could probably do it with his eyes closed, to be honest, but he prefers to watch himself work. It's almost soothing, until he's interrupted. He can hear her feet on the stairs, could put the gun away if he wanted to. He barely looks at her.

 

"What are you doing?" She smells of the rough carbon soap they use to bathe with, her hair damp and loose from its usual ponytail. Dressed down, armor on the floor where she left it before disappearing, she looks at him with faint interest.

 

"Cleaning this and checking for anything that needs repairs."

"Oh? Why?" 

"Aside from the practicality?"

"Yes."

"Happiness is a warm gun." He shrugs, and to his surprise, she laughs. 

"You had the same gun for years?"

"Yes." He nods, looks back down at the weapon in his hands. It would be so easy to turn it on her. Not that he can; the contract doesn't allow it. And even if he could, he wouldn't kill her with the gun, it's not intimate enough. No. If he ever kills her, it will be when he's close to her. Maybe he'll choke her until she stops breathing.

He's amazed his mind even allows him those thoughts.

 

"You hungry?" She asks, expression unreadable, its usual mask. If she's knows what he was thinking, she doesn't show it. So he nods, makes a small noise of affirmation, and watches her leave out the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to his weapon. She might not be the best person, but he doesn't have to like her, only serve her. He ponders this even after she hands him a Nuka cola and whiskey; does she hate him? Or want him around? She confuses him.  
He hates being confused.


	2. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lone ponders her thoughts and illicit feelings for her bodyguard.

She watches him clean the gun with precision and focus. If she wanted, she could order him to pay attention to her. Actually, she's certain she can order him to do whatever she wants, unless it includes violence towards her or her being violent towards him. Hell, she would welcome a fistfight if she wasn't half convinced he'd kill her as soon as the contract was void. 

 

"Charon?"

"Yes?"

"If I ask you things, do you have to tell the truth?"

"Usually." 

She pauses for a moment, considers what she says next; she's not certain she'll like his answer, after all. 

 

"What would happen if the contract was void?"

"We would part ways." The implication of violence is definitely there. 

"You mean you would put a bullet between my eyes." She raises an eyebrow. 

"Perhaps." He shrugs; there's no point in arguing with her or lying to her. She always knows when he tries to. Not that he's tried to lie to her often. 

 

She laughs, a little "huh", and reaches for a cigarette. He's hurt her feelings, but she'll be damned if she shows that. She lights up the cigarette and takes a long drag, scooping her legs up under her chin; she peers over her knees at him. 

 

She's meant to hate him. Find him disgusting at the least, grotesque at best. She doesn't, and it worries her. She's disgusted with herself for the way her eyes follow him; she can barely stop herself from watching the muscles in his arms flex and tense as he moves his hand along the gun, cleaning it precisely. Hell, he's practically caressing the damn thing. 

 

She snarls at herself internally for being jealous of a goddamn weapon. A weapon held by a ghoul, of all things. She wants to call him a him. Not a thing. But she's furious, caught up in her own frustration and bigotry, and it's easier to take it out on him than deal with it. 

 

"Charon." She surprises herself by speaking. He looks up, awaiting a command or an insult, perhaps. Not that she insults him to his face. 

"Yes?"

"I- uh." She stops herself, thinking fast, "I'm going to bed. Please make sure the windows and doors are bolted before you turn in."

"As you wish." He returns his eyes to his shotgun as she breezes past him. She smacks her forehead into her palm all the way up the stairs and into her room. She doesn't bolt the door behind her. It's a habit she's developed; she's gotten to a point of frustration that she hopes if she moans loud enough, he'll come and investigate the noise. 

He never does, and long after she's sated, she lies curled in a ball on her bed; only between the world of consciousness and sleep does she allow herself to ache for ruined arms around her, rocking her to sleep.


	3. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon ponders Lone, and relieves some torment.

Charon doesn't sleep. He's not sure his new employer is aware of that fact or even cares. He's caught her looking at him more than a few times, and it confuses him. Because when she thinks he isn't looking, her expression isn't one of disgust or vague annoyance, but contemplation. As if she's trying to figure him out. Or something. He lights a cigarette, stretches out on the couch. He might not sleep, but he finds himself drifting off when the environment proves secure enough. 

 

Tonight is one of the sleepless nights. No drifting. It's hard to when she's making such goddamn provocative noises. The house isn't exactly large, and he has very good hearing. He slams his fist into the back of the couch. She's tormenting him, he's certain. If he WAS to go up there, to investigate what the hell she's doing, she might kill him. 

Or fuck him senseless, a small voice in the back of his head whispers.   
He hates the damn voice, the one that suggests slyly that she might want him. That the purpose of those furtive glances are seduction. 

 

A low growl forms in his throat as he feels himself harden, leather pants suddenly becoming unpleasantly tight. He'll never drift or relax now. Cursing himself and hoping to god that she's asleep by now, he allows himself to unzip his pants. He's pretty sure there's gotta be something in the contract about this. And if there isn't? He searches his morality, certain that he's crossing some sort of line by jerking it to someone as morally ambiguous as her. He's pretty sure she hates him. Yet here he is. 

 

He tries not to think about it, but it's pretty hard to convince himself to think of anything else when her muffled whimpers are so fresh in his memory. As he glides his thumb across the head of his length, swiping away the bead of pre cum, guiding his hand in slow, lazy strokes, he imagines eliciting those sounds from her. He wouldn't be gentle with her. She doesn't deserve that. Doesn't deserve mercy or kindness. He could crush her throat with three fingers if he really wanted to. He considers that as he increases the pace of his strokes, gripping himself tighter and trying to avoid maki sound. 

 

He imagines her beneath him, pinned and trapped, one of his hands around her throat. She's so small, he would break her easily. He imagines slamming into her with one thrust, imagines her screaming and biting down on his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He imagines her tongue swiping across the bite mark as he ruts into her hard enough for her to scream her throat raw. He can't hurt her any other way; fucking her that way would be his only outlet of vengeance. 

 

He imagines using her, abusing her, not caring whether she gets off. Hell, he could cum in her more than once and not let her use Rad Away. Not that he would, but the thought is appealing. The thought of having power over her, if having her on her knees, begging for him. Hell, it's almost enough to tempt him to go upstairs. Maybe next time, he tells himself as he fucks his hand, wishing it was her mouth, her cunt, anything but this. He swears he almost goes feral as he cums, biting down on his fist to keep from making a sound. He won't let her hear, won't let her lord that over him. 

Exhausted, he grabs a rag from his pocket, cleans himself, and lights another cigarette. She won't sleep for long and he needs to regain what little composure he has before she awakes to torment him further.   
Groaning, he slaps a hand to his face. 

Admit it, he tells himself, you have it bad.


	4. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing Charon, Lone makes a decision.

She wasn't asleep. She keeps herself awake on Nuka Quantum and the occasional hit of whatever chems she can scavenge. She has a deep, vaguely horrible feeling that her sleeping problems would be solved if she just had the courage to ask him to come up here. But even she has her limits and her morals, and she's pretty sure it's unethical to invite someone who may as well be her slave into her bed. It's not that she doesn't have other options, she just doesn't find the idea of any of the others touching her to be appealing. 

 

And yet, she'd be perfectly happy to let a dirty ghoul touch her. Okay. So that's a low blow. She knows he's not dirty. They bathe whenever they can; wet ghoul smell isn't great, but it's better than dirty unwashed ghoul. She's pretty sure Ahzrukhal didn't let Charon bathe that often. She's doing a better job taking care of him than that asshole did, that's for sure. She makes sure he eats and drinks and has enough ammunition and lets him bathe and speak his mind. She doesn't insult him or threaten him. Hell, she would free him if she wasn't so afraid he would kill her. 

 

That's not all it is though, is it? Her brain interjects slyly. She slaps her palm to her face. Because no, that's not all it is. She's not just afraid he'd kill her. That would be the easy way out. What would be worse would be if he just left without a word. She's almost certain that would be his choice. He wouldn't kill her, but he wouldn't stick around. It's for her own selfish reasons that she hasn't burned the damn thing. Because as cruel and grey aligned as she is? She would miss him. She would miss him and he isn't even hers to miss. 

 

If God survived the great kaboom, she'd think they were punishing her. She can HEAR him downstairs, and every nerve in her body is screaming for her to go down there and... And do something? She's not sure what. For all her bravado, she's really not sure what she would do with a six foot five ghoul. She barely reaches above his elbow. 

"Good going, idiot," she mutters to herself, pulling her blanket tighter around herself, trying to ignore the almost inaudible noises from downstairs. 

 

Still, she's glad he's alone. If there was another girl down there... Irrational jealousy ripples through her. She knows that none of the human girls in town would go near him - ghouls are meant to be repulsive, she reminds herself - there are plenty of attractive enough girl ghouls who would be more than happy to climb him like a tree. She smacks her forehead again. 

 

It's at a point now where she needs to fuck something, someone. Anyone will do, at this point, because she knows that either way she'll be thinking of him, wishing it was him. Hell, for a few caps she could bribe whoever she fucks to keep their mouth shut about her inevitably moaning his name when she cums. God, that's one way to feel disgusting afterwards. She's aching between her thighs again; a single finger's inspection proves how wet she is again. Cursing Charon, she tries to ignore the growing ache. It proves futile. As always. 

 

Oh, for fuck sake; she rolls her eyes. He has to be truthful with her, and if he was down there getting off to the sound of HER getting off? Well all she can do is ask, right? He can always say no. Which would be humiliating, but at least she's put the cards on the table. With that logic in mind, she raises her voice.

"Charon?"


	5. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation leads to a change in their relationship and dynamic.

He thinks he's hearing shit again. Which is perfectly plausible because sometimes he does, in fact, hear shit. So he waits, to see if she says it again. She does.

"Charon?" 

There it is again, his name said with a hint of urgency, almost panic. He sighs and stretches. Could be a radroach got into her room again. She's such a damn GIRL about those things. They creep her out. Not as much as centaurs, but they still creep her out. So he takes his sweet ass time stretching, slinging his gun onto his shoulder, because hell, any opportunity to make her squirm is great in his eyes. So he takes the stairs one at a time, thinking that if it was a roach she'd be screeching his name a lot more frequently and urgently. 

 

He knocks on the door even though there's no point. 

"Charon? That you?"

He bites back a sarcastic retort, then lets it free as he enters the room and sees no sign of any reaches. 

"Nah. It's Jangles the fucking moon monkey. What do you want?" It's only then that he realises she's not wearing anything under that blanket. That and the fact that she shifts it off herself giving him a full view of her.

"What do I want?" She raises an eyebrow at him, "were you not just getting off to the sound of me getting off?"

"The activities occurring at the same time is purely coincidental." He's not going to have this conversation with him. He won't let her take hold of this and torment him with it, assuming that's her plan. 

 

"Bullshit." She practically spits it at him, "you're a shit liar, Charon. You want me. Admit it." 

He can't disobey a direct order - in combat, anyway, and lucky for him, this is neither combat not a direct order. More like a demand. Which he can, thankfully, ignore. 

"I'd rather not," he says, and it kills him to see her expression falter just slightly, but even if she IS being genuine, he can't allow her to get close to him. Not when he doesn't trust her. 

"Why not?"

"Because I have standards," he practically snarls it at her, "because I'm not a whore for you to use when you please. Because the sight of you repulses me."

He's going to make her cry, and he hates himself for it.   
"Cover yourself up and go to sleep." He tells her, turning for the door. 

"Charon, please-" 

"What? You're going to order me to stay? Take away my consent? That's low, even for you." He's never been so sure that he hates her - that he loves her - than he is in the moment that he glances back at her to see tears rolling down her cheeks. He forces himself to close the door behind him and go back downstairs, slamming his fist into the wall methodically each time he hears a choked sob from behind her door. 

\-------

She emerges just before dawn with her eyes slightly bloodshot but no other sign of her prior distress.   
"Can I borrow your flip lighter?" She asks conversationally.

 

Wordlessly, he hands it to her. If she wants to pretend last night didn't happen, then that's fine with him. He'd rather not upset her like that again, even though it's nice to see proof that she actually does have a heart. 

He gapes at her as she produces a familiar piece of paper from her pocket. Before he can say - or do - anything, he's watching the contract burn. 

 

"You do realise what you've done?" 

"Yes." She doesn't look at him, "you're free. No longer bound to serve me."

 

"Why would you do that? If you're that angry with me you could have sold the-"

"You're not my property, nor anyone else's." She spits at him, "now you're free. And if I'm that repulsive, you're free to get the fuck away from me." 

"Are you dismissing me?"

"I don't care what you do." She tells him, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and heading for the stairs.   
He watches the contract burn before heading for the door. He's not sure it's wise to be around her right now, and he needs space. Time. And right now? He's not sure he'll ever come back.


	6. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lone searches for Charon, determined to bring him home.

She hears the door clang shut but doesn't move. Fuck it. Let him work his own shit out.

She must have passed out, but when she wakes, it doesn't take long before she jumps up. The windows have heavy boards over them, so she can't see out. Swearing profusely, she sprints down the stairs, expecting to find him lazing on the couch, maybe smirking at having provoked a reaction. He's not there, and neither is his gun. 

She didn't think he would actually leave. What if he's gone for good?   
Okay, so she's definitely panicking now. 

 

She grabs the closest weapon: an unmodified 10mm, and heads for the door. She doesn't think he will have left the city. Or at least, she hopes not. If she knows him as well as she thinks she does, he'll have gone to the saloon. That sounds like Charon; have a drink to take the edge off before heading out. 

 

She ends up making the trek along the rickety metal bridges and walkways to the saloon, despite being afraid he won't be there and despite a hangover of apocalyptic proportion. She pushes open the heavy metal door, scanning the dimly lit bar for his familiar silhouette. Disappointed, she considers leaving again. 

"Hey kid," Nova offers her a grin, "looking for someone?"

 

A brief flicker of hope rushes through her. 

"Charon. Is he here?"

"Yeah, he just went back up to his room. Third on the right. I'd warn you though, he's not in a nice mood." Nova pouts and she considers slogging her in the face, like she does whenever anyone makes a pass at Charon. Not that it happens often in these parts, it's more common in the Underworld, but still. She can't afford to pick a fight in the only bar in Megaton, though, so she purses her lips, attempts a smile, even though it comes out more like a grimace, and heads in the direction of the stairs. 

 

She knocks on the door. As expected, she receives a harsh 'go away'. 

"Charon? Please can I come in?"

There's a brief pause before he wrenches open the door and glowers down at her. 

 

"What do you want?"

"You're... You're still here." 

"Can't exactly leave someone as pathetic as you to fend for yourself, can I? Doesn't mean I'm going back to the house."

"But I can't sleep," she protests, knowing how pathetic she sounds as soon as the words are out her mouth. 

"That's not my problem anymore." He says, "however. You are the first person to burn the contract or even consider setting me free. Even if it was for selfish gains. Either way. I owe you for that."

"Please come back, Charon." She hates herself for begging him, but she's certain there's no other way. 

"If you can prove to me that you are a decent human being, I will remain with you. Until that point, consider yourself on probation." He leads her down the stairs, shotgun over his shoulder; on the way out he tosses a few caps to Gob, presumably for the room overnight. He still barely looks at her, long after they're back in her house, him in his usual place on the couch, her on the chair beside him.


	7. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon changes his mind, and Lone gets more than she bargained for.

"Charon?" 

He was wondering when she'd speak. She's been quiet all evening. So with great trepidation and more than a little annoyance, he says, "what?" 

He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the faint look of annoyance on her face at the fact that he can speak to her as badly as he likes and she can't order him not to. Either way, the look she gives him is enough for him to feel a bit bad, at least. 

"About the other night-"

 

"I don't want to hear it." Because if he's ever going to bed with her it will be on his terms, not hers. 

"I just-" she freezes under the glare he gives her before blurting the rest of her sentence, "I would never have taken your consent away. I know that I've done some shitty things but I'd never do that." 

 

The thing is, he knows. He knows she wouldn't have, deep down. Maybe it's his own fears that prompted his harsh words the other night. Because he does want her, just as badly as she must want him, but he's still afraid. Afraid he can't trust her. But there's nothing but truth in her expression as she looks at him. It's not the wide eyed look she gives people she's lying to before she knifes them in the gut. It's not the wheedling smile she gives anyone she's trying to charm something out of. Her expression is raw and afraid and dare he say it - vulnerable. 

 

"I know." He hesitates and then says, bluntly, because he's incapable of being careful yet. One day, one day maybe he'll be able to speak to her delicately. Not yet. So he says bluntly, "you don't repulse me. That was a lie."

"Thank you." Her expression is still neutral as she looks at him, "I'm going to bed." 

The phrase is loaded with euphemisms, an unspoken invitation. Maybe she expects some sort of gentle patch up lovemaking. She still isn't deserving of that, and he's not sure he could ever even do that with her. Either way, he only hesitates for a moment before following her. 

 

She waits for him to enter the room before she closes the door. 

"You changed your mind?"

"Yes."

"Why?" 

"Because I want to be in control for once." He waits for a moment for her to process what he's just said, watches her eyes widen for a moment before his hand closes around her throat, light enough that she can still breathe but with enough pressure for her to gasp in surprise.

 

Carefully, he spins her, pressing her against the closest wall, hand still on her throat. 

"You shouldn't have freed me." He growls into her ear, the hand that isn't on her throat exploring freely, "before, you would have had control. Some say in how hard and rough this goes. First mistake. Burning the contract." 

He has to admit he's impressed by how well she takes that; he expected her to be shaking, but she's holding her own.

"Maybe I wanted to prove to you that I don't see you as property." She chokes out. Well, that's good enough for him. He turns her, takes one look at her and then tears her shirt clean off her. It was old and ragged anyway. Nothing she really needs. 

 

She opens her mouth as though to protest but he silences her with a single look, lifting her up to carry her with ease to the bed. His mind is full of the fantasy from two nights prior. He releases her throat so she can gasp for air as she pulls at his armor and clothing. He allows it, lets her strip him naked as he tears down her tight pants, amused at her lack of underwear. She's every bit as filthy as he assumed, kissing and biting at every inch of him she can reach. 

 

"This could hurt," he warns, although he regrets giving her any sort of preparation or warning. Still, he's not cruel, will never be cruel, and it's not in his nature to hurt anyone that doesn't truly deserve it, and to be fair, she's never shown cruelty to him.   
Still, it's amusing to him, the sounds she makes as he deliberately rubs the thick head of his member against her slick entrance. 

"Charon," she whines, "please...." 

He bites down on her collarbone, tongue swiping along the mark gently, soothing the sting. She whimpers and clings to him, bucking her hips desperately. 

"Patience." He snarls, one enormous hand landing a heavy slap to her round ass. She whines. "I told you I'm in control. Behave." 

 

He fists his hand into her hair, flipping her onto her front, pulling her close against him, her thighs spread wide. He has little regard for whether it hurts, consumed by another almost feral impulse as he lines himself up and then pushes into her. He'd love to just shove into her with one thrust, not caring if it hurts. But he's not like that, even when even now he's not sure whether he hates her. He knows it must feel strange, his cock inside her, because he knows his skin texture is different to that of a pretty boy smoothskin. The kind she wraps around her fingers just to fuck with him. 

 

He's careful, pauses once or twice to let her adjust before he tugs on her hair again, dragging her closer as he starts to move. The first sweet, ragged moan he elicits from her spurs him on at once; something close to a snarl tears from his throat as he presses her down against the threadbare blankets, desperate for the warmth and tightness of her heat as it envelopes him again and again. He pulls her up, bites down hard on her collarbone as he ruts into her relentlessly, urged on by the screams of pleasure and pain. It's satisfying, having her entirely at his mercy finally. 

 

"Charon!" She screams his name over and over; there's no doubt anyone walking past the house won't be able to hear her. It makes him feel almost smug. Nobody else she's fucked has ever gotten her screaming like this.

"You dirty whore," he growls into her ear, "screaming and desperate for a ghoul, of all things. You should be disgusted."

"I know," she gasps, pushing back against him desperately. 

 

"What are you?" He's testing her, really. 

"A dirty whore," she's prompt at least.

"Whose dirty whore?"

"Yours..." She whimpers pathetically and he slaps her already red ass cheek again. 

"Louder." When she doesn't comply he squeezes her throat menacingly, "I said louder. So everyone in this city hears you. Let's try again. Whose dirty whore are you?" He snaps his hips against hers sharply, driving deep and rough and relentless, finally provoking the reaction he desires.

"Yours, Charon, I'm yours, oh fuck, Charon!" She screams and he growls low in his throat, in his chest. 

 

He has to take a shallow, gasping breath as he pulls away from her; she whines at the loss of contact and it only fuels his lust and desire as he turns her over onto her back again, leaving a trail of kisses and sharp bites along her body, burying his face in her shoulder as he slams back into her. She screams his name again, practically sobs it as her legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer. He's rough and almost violent as he holds her close. In his fantasies he always has to be quiet, but not tonight. Tonight he growls and almost snarls a groan as he slams his hips against hers, emptying himself inside her in hot, thick spurts. She whines and moans and tightens around him, her own release brought on by his. 

 

He's exhausted, wants to collapse on top of her, but he's far too big and he's a little afraid he might hurt her. In the dim light of the room, he spies a faint trickle of blood trailing from the bite he left on her collarbone. Keeping himself propped up with one arm, he leans down and swipes the trail of blood slowly with his tongue. She shivers delicately, still caught up in the aftershocks of her release. He surprises himself - and her - by pressing a gentle kiss on the bite mark. He wonders vaguely if he went too far. 

Her hand reaches up and for a moment he's convinced she'll slap him. It surprises him when instead, her hand brushes what remains of his blood red hair gently, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to regain her breath. He watches her for a moment, and then finds words.

"You could have told me to stop." His eyes don't leave the still lightly bleeding mark on her neck; he reaches to touch it and she catches his hand.

"I didn't want you to." Her cheeks turn pink at the comment and he smirks. 

 

"Got me a little masochist, huh?"

"Something like that." She yawns. 

"Get some sleep." He rolls off her, lies on his side facing her. 

"You won't leave?"

"I'm pretty beat." He informs her, and it's true. A heavy exhaustion settles over him suddenly. It's like he hasn't slept properly in years and suddenly needs to. 

 

"Charon?" Her voice is soft, like her fingers, which are tracing each scar on his chest. It should make him uncomfortable, but it doesn't. It's soothing. 

"Yeah?" 

"Thank you."

He smirks again, "I basically tortured you and you're thanking me?"

"You're still here, aren't you?" 

"Don't get used to it." He warns, because still, really, he's trying to tell himself there's somewhere, anywhere else he'd rather be besides next to her. In this moment though, he's pretty hard pushed to think of a scenario.


	8. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

She's only pretending to sleep. Of all the months she's travelled with him, she's never seen him sleep, and it's fascinating. He looks peaceful, an expression she finds odd and endearing on him. It's for that reason that she lies awake, facing him, glad that the heavy boards over the windows allow just a thin stream of moonlight in. She wants to touch his hair, or what remains of it, but she's afraid she might wake him. And in her mind, if she wakes him, he'll leave. 

 

She can't stay awake forever though, not after all the energy she's used this evening. At some point she drifts off, curled close against him, grateful for the extra heat that ghouls give off.

 

When she wakes, it's to find a heavy arm around her and her head rested on a solid chest rather than a pillow. Trying not to move too much in case he's asleep, she lifts her head and looks at him. Hazy blue eyes peer back at her.

"You're awake?" She's a little startled that he was just lying there staring at her, and more than a little surprised that he's still there at all.

"Barely slept." 

She would have thought he would have slept better. 

"Oh..." She pauses, "are you... Are you alright?" 

 

He takes a moment to reply.   
"I'm not displeased with last night, if that's what you're asking." 

"Oh." She hesitates. "But you're not pleased with it either?" She's afraid of his rejection, which she feels, deep down, will come eventually. 

"I wouldn't say that. Look at me."   
She does. 

"I'm afraid of you. I don't yet know if I can trust you. You see my dilemma? I want to be around you but you're very difficult to trust."

"I'm so-"

"Don't apologise. Don't talk. Just be quiet." His arm tightens around her, though, so she knows he's not angry with her.

 

"Charon?" She peeks up at him again. 

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean you're not leaving?" She prompts him gently, not wanting to go too far. 

"Well where else am I gonna go, huh? You're still alive and kicking, so-"

"Yeah but you're not obliged by a contract anymore." Her tone - and her mind - are full of confusion. 

 

"Isn't that a good thing? Means I'm here because I want to be."

"You want to be around me?" She can't help the full beam of hope that surges through her. 

"As much as I'm afraid to admit that, yes, I do. I just need to trust you." 

"You can tr-"

"You can't just say it. You have to prove it. Now shut up and go back to sleep."

She obeys him with a smile on her face.


	9. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and a little more. Charon opens up about what he recalls from his past, which is, surprisingly, quite a bit.

She's peaceful when she sleeps. There's no trace of the vicious, ruthless girl she can be sometimes. She looks just like a young girl who's had too much dumped on her shoulders. He watches her sleep with a strange feeling in his heart. It's unfamiliar to him. He's fucked women before, obviously. For a ghoul he's surprisingly good looking, and it's not hard to find ghoul girls, or the occasional kinky smoothskin, to shack up with for a night. He's never felt like this before. It's puzzling, so he tries not to dwell on it too much. Of course, that's near impossible, considering she's sleeping peacefully on him, one hand pressed tight just above one of the worst scars on his chest, the one that has exposed muscle showing, red and angry. 

 

It's a little comforting, actually. The fact that she's so comfortable being cosied up with him. She doesn't care who - or what - he is. She just wants him. It's more than a little comforting, if he's honest. Even though she's not the best of people. Who is he to judge. Really. He knows it's a shitty comparison; he didn't exactly have a choice when it came down to killing people. That was his contract. His binding, his prison. If she was the woman he up until recently thought she was, she would have kept him that way. Beat down. Weak. Imprisoned. Instead, she's freed him, set fire to his chains. Perhaps because he pushed her too far. A large part of him hopes, quietly, softly, in the back of his mind, that it's because she loves him. 

 

That in itself puzzles him. He's a ghoul. Shuffler, the smooth skins call his kind. Zombie. Diseased. Dirty. Abominations. Like he WANTED to survive the bombs. A military experiment, less than human. That or death. On reflection, he decides, death would have been a better sentence. 

 

And suddenly, urgently, he needs to talk. About his past. About how he got here. It's all coming back to him now, as though a form of hypnosis has been broken.   
He nudges her awake. She sits bolt upright, alert at once.

"Charon? What's going on?"

"Relax." He tells her, so she does, lying back down, fingers tracing the edges of his ruined skin, skimming around the exposed muscle. 

"What's wrong?" She asks. 

"It doesn't hurt," he says, "the muscle, I mean. It won't hurt me if you touch it."   
So she does, and he lies there contemplating where to start.

 

"I was in the army before the bombs." He tells her, and he feels her tense. Perk up. He's never talked about his past with her. 

"And they made you... A slave?"

"It was an experiment, I had the choice, the experiment or death. I was brainwashed to obey. The contract, my manacles and shackles." 

"Why you?"

"I was court marshalled," he remembers flashes of it, "there was a fight. I was... Bigger than the others... I snapped. Lost control. Next thing I know, he was dead on the ground... I never meant to hit him that hard..."

 

"You were punished for an accident?" She sounds appalled, angered as though he was wronged. He likes that.

"Yes. When the bombs fell, the most sympathetic of my... Scientists. Doctors. I can't remember which, but he got us to a bunker. We both got cooked, but survived it. Became ghouls, the pair of us. Fucker felt guilty, I think, which is why he sold the contract. Sold me at first opportunity. Still, he gave me my shotgun. I wonder what happened to him. Can't say he was a friend. But he was pretty damn close."

 

"Charon," she looks up at him, and he's amazed to see tears in her eyes, "I'm so sorry... They... They must have hurt you..."

"Yeah. They did. I think that's how I survived the bombs. Radiation... That was... Yeah that was nothing compared to before..." He trails off before he does something dumb like tells her precisely how they used to beat him, torture him until he obeyed orders.   
She doesn't need the nightmares. Neither does he, come to think of it. Even though he doesn't sleep and the nightmares are more like horrible flashbacks when he should be asleep. 

 

"Nobody's going to use you again. Or sell you. Or mistreat you." She promises, and he can't help but smile down at her, because he believes her. In that moment, he starts to finally believe that everything might be okay for him one day.


	10. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lone reveals her name, and Charon makes a surprising input.

"I don't know what to call you." His voice is low and soft, a welcome sound in the dimly lit room. 

"What do you mean?" She asks, her mind full of thoughts, thoughts like she doesn't really care what he calls her as long as she can wake up like this every day, in his arms. She knows she doesn't deserve that happiness. That doesn't mean she doesn't crave it with every fibre of her being. 

"I used to call you mistress or miss. What do I call you now? I don't know your name." He sounds almost embarrassed, and she feels that way too after a moment. 

"Is that why you called me mistress last night?"

"I didn't know your name..." He looks away, ashamed, and her heart breaks for the many little injustices she's done him without even knowing or realising. 

 

"You know the Bible, right?"

"I remember." 

"My mother. She was... Very religious, apparently. Believed it all, even though the world ended. Either way. When I was born, I got a biblical name. I guess it's alright." She shrugs, because in a world of strange names, hers fits right in. She's just never been sure it suits her. 

 

"Let me guess. It's Eve?"

"No. Too cliche." She snickers. 

"Mary?" He guesses, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at her. 

"Also too cliche." She snorts, "and I'm not virginal enough to be named Mary. Although you're close. It's Magdalene." 

 

"Magdalene." He says it slowly. Like he's savouring the way her name sounds as he says it, dragging each syllable out like he's licking honey off a spoon. She almost wants to ask him to say it again, just so she can commit her name in his voice to memory forever, locking it away so far in her heart that nobody can touch it. 

"It suits you." He leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead. The gesture surprises them both. 

"I never tell anyone my name." She says quietly, "you're the first." She knows she must look pathetic, vulnerable and even stupid to him, but she can't help it. She gets so helpless around him, so addled and out of control. Like a magnet drawn in by another. There's no way of fighting it, nor any point to it. 

 

"I don't remember mine." He says, and her heart breaks for him all over again. 

"What?"

"My name. I don't remember it. There were three of us. Designation: Apollo, Designation: Bravo, and myself. Designation: Charon. Only I survived initial experimentation. Apollo killed himself in his cell. Bravo died first round of testing." The way he says the last word with a resigned tone and the faintest hint of a grimace is telling to her. He means torture. Pain and sympathy floods her. 

 

"You never deserved any of that. Any of you." 

"Funny," he says faintly, "I'm starting to like my name. Started around the time you started using it." 

 

She can't help her reaction. She tugs him by the shoulders towards her, realising that despite everything, despite their passion the past night, she's never kissed him. And she wants to, desperately. She needs to show him affection, warmth, gentleness. He needs that, and she is compelled to give it. 

"What are you-?"

"Relax," she whispers and then she leans in - up, really - and kisses him gently. It's hesitant and a little awkward for a moment, and then he seems to unfreeze, enormous hands pulling her tight against his chest as his ruined mouth moves in sync with hers.   
For what seems like eternity, there's nothing but him, his warmth, the heat of his body against hers, his mouth, his breath. 

 

"Magdalene." He says when they finally have to tear apart, gasping for breath.

"Yes?" She says, entirely certain she will never grow tired of hearing him say her name, nor grow tired of kissing him, being held by him.

"I believe it's usually traditional to kiss first BEFORE consummating a relationship. We're a little backwards." 

 

She blinks. "A - a relationship? That's... What we are?"

"Magdalene, if you're fine with the possibility that you'll have abuse hurled at you for being with a ghoul-"

''More than I do already? People already assume we're fuc- I mean, together. But... Is that what you want, Charon?" 

"That's a fair argument. But yes, Magdalene, I want that with you. My earlier statement about trust still stands. But I don't see why we cannot try a relationship at the same time, it's all trial and error." 

"You mean it?" She stares at him, afraid she'll wake up at any moment. 

"I don't lie to you," he says simply, and before she can speak again, he drags her back into another intoxicating embrace.


	11. Charon

He likes the fact that she's taking charge. She moans loudly, her soft hands on his ruined chest as she impales herself on him. He grips her waist, thankful that she's not as skinny and bony as ghoul girls. Either way though, he's going to leave bruises. He's certainly not about to complain though; fuck, she's tight around him. Her eyes are half closed in pleasure as she starts to ride him. He can't help but assist her a little, lifting her up and down, trying not to groan too loud as she bounces on his cock. 

 

"Fuck, Charon!" She gasps, drawing his name out into a moan. A loud one. 

"You want the whole damn city to hear?" He growls, though if he's honest he's not sure he minds. Hell, he's actually pretty damn keen on the idea of her screaming his name loud enough for the entire settlement to hear her. 

 

"Maybe I do," she smirks, leans down and kisses his ruined mouth with an unfamiliar passion. He winds one rough hand into her hair, kissing her hard as he bucks his hips up into hers. He's glad he made the decision to kiss her, because it muffles the moans and screams she makes as he fucks her. For a moment he's almost afraid he might make her bleed, she's so much smaller than he is, and it almost makes him hesitate. 

 

"Charon," she whines pleadingly, "please don't stop... Please!" 

"I don't want to hurt you."

"That's," she gasps between thrusts, "a bit different from last night." 

"If I recall," he rolls them with almost terrifying ease, pinning her to the mattress without pulling out of her, "you and I weren't lovers last night." He kisses her throat, slowing his pace to an almost torturous degree. 

"Such a gentleman," she purrs sarcastically; he snaps his hips against hers sharply and she moans, her eyes rolling back in her head. 

 

He can't help but smirk at how helpless she is. The smirk doesn't last long, though. She's so warm and wet and tight, her nails on his back adding to the pleasure. If he doesn't get a hold of himself he's not going to last much longer. It's almost frustrating. He's over two hundred years old and he still can't stop himself from needing to cum after ten minutes. Still, at least she's close. He can feel her tightening around him, hear her breathing get shallower. Her moans and whimpers, some unintelligible but mostly his name, just drive him on. She kisses him fiercely, then goes limp in his arms, her head falling back against the straw pillows. It's that little thing that sets him off, seeing her so weak and pleasured at his hand. 

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as he finds his own release; he can feel her growing warmer around him as he fills her with his seed and realises he probably shouldn't have done it inside her. Not that she seems to care. She brushes one of the remaining strands of his hair out of his eyes and smiles up at him. 

"Think you can face the day now?" She asks. He huffs sarcastically in response.


	12. Lone

"Take some Rad Away. You're glowing." Charon throws her a pack of the stuff and she blinks. 

"Glowing?" 

"Magdalene. Ghouls are radioactive. Look. Down." 

She does, and flushes a brilliant shade of scarlet when she sees the faintly glowing fluid on her thighs. 

"Oh."

 

She takes the Rad Away and dresses in silence. By the time she gets downstairs he has his armor back on and a box of sugar bombs in his outstretched hand. 

"So what's the plan for today?" 

"We need to go out, trade for more ammo and food." She looks up at him to see him looking down at her as though considering something. She's about to ask him what's wrong when he lifts her up and kisses her. When he sets her down again, she's considerably more lightheaded than before.

"What was that for?" She asks and he smiles sheepishly.

"Can't a free man kiss his lover?"

"Of course." She beams at him, grabs his hand and leads him towards the door.

 

"Hold up a second." He's much bigger than her so when he stops, she's forced to a stand still too.

"What's wrong?"

"This," he nods down at their linked hands, "won't go over well with the locals."

"I disarmed their bomb," she says flatly, "they can fucking well deal with it."

She's pretty sure he smirks as she leads him out the door and down the pathway.


	13. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon and Magdalene move locations.

Charon is well aware of the glaring eyes on them, even if Magdalene is stubbornly and pointedly ignoring the vaguely disgusted looks they're getting. She doesn't release his hand, even though he knows it would be much easier for them both if she did. She's still stubbornly holding his hand - okay, more like her hand is swamped by his - as they enter the Craterside Supply. 

 

He's half expecting a vaguely rude comment from Moira Brown. Instead, the brunette just beams at them. 

"About time." She says absently, "now, what can I get you today?"

Before Magdalene can rattle off a whole list of things, Charon interrupts. 

 

"What do you mean, about time?" 

"It was a compliment," Moira says while she pulls boxes of ammo from under the counter, "I'm glad you two are finally together, despite what society says."

"Oh." He falls silent and lets Magdalene handle the trading. He's never been very good at any sort of trade except intimidation, and that isn't necessary right now. He contemplates this as they walk back through Megaton. He's pretty sure that if Magdalene was with any other ghoul, namely one without his sheer size and reputation, she'd be getting hell. As it is, the smoothskins in the settlement limit themselves to nasty looks out the corner of their eyes. 

 

He's starting to think maybe Mags didn't notice the looks, until they're safely behind the bolted door of the house and she starts packing food and supplies into her traveling pack. 

"Fuck those bigots." She mutters, "I'm not staying here and being judged."

"Underworld?" He suggests, packing his own gear. She shrugs.

"Won't your kind take just as poorly to this sort of relationship?"

"Surprisingly, no. Ghouls stay out of each others' business." He doesn't feel the need to add that people mostly stay out of his business because he scares the shit out of them. He's pretty sure she already knows that. 

 

He hasn't been back to Underworld since she obtained his contract. He thinks it will be different, going in there as a free man. He's right; as he pushes open the door with one hand, the other holding Mags' hand, he feels taller. Like the others have to notice them. And they sure as hell do. Not like Mags is unpopular in Underworld; hell, most of the inhabitants like her. 

 

"So... We gonna live here?" Magdalene asks him, sitting on the bed in the room they've rented from Carol. 

"We can't stay in this room forever. There are some empty rooms along the hallway that we can probably commandeer but..."

"If we keep getting caps in, we can keep this room," Mags shrugs, "we can get mercenary work. Or supply runs for Tulip."

He has to admit, it's a decent idea. 

"We can ask about work in the morning. Get some sleep." He lies down next to her so she can rest her head on his chest. He won't sleep, being back here. But he knows she sleeps better with him there. As she sleeps, he fiddles with her Pip Boy, reading through some of her book files. It's not perfect, but it's comfortable.


	14. Lone

Magdalene smiles as she watches him sleep. It's so rare, him sleeping. She'd hate to wake him, but the opportunity is too great. How rare is it for Charon to sleep in only those leather pants? She assumes he must feel safe enough here in Underworld to do so. She wants to kiss every inch of his ruined face, just because she can. She also wants to brush back that persistent lock - clump - of hair that falls in his eyes. 

 

"What are you doing, Magdalene?" One eye opens and surveys her. She grins. 

"Nothing." She says innocently, because really there's little point in telling him she was considering waking him up by sucking him off. God, that's still such a good idea. 

 

"That's not the look of someone who's up to nothing." 

"Oh shut up and go back to sleep." She rolled her eyes and shifted down the bed so she was at the same level as his bulge. 

 

"Nothing, huh?" He asked, then growled low in his throat as she pressed an open mouthed kiss against the now growing bulge in his pants. She smirked, deftly unzipping the right leather, pushing the pants out of her way. 

"Mags? What are you doing?" 

"Shh," she leaned down, kissing the head of his cock lightly. He growled low in his throat, letting his head drop back against the pillows. 

"Christ," he groaned as her tongue circled the still-sensitive head of his dick before she took most of his length in one slow suck. The texture was different to what she would imagine a human man's would be, but he still tasted oddly pleasant. 

 

She hummed around his length, taking him deeper, relaxing her throat. His big hand gripped her hair, the other fisting into the itchy blanket that hadn't really bothered her. Charon's body heat was more than enough to get her drifting into a deep sleep. 

She was working up a rhythm now, moving her head back and forwards, trying her best not to choke on his thick cock. Humming with satisfaction, she took him as deep as she could, her nose pressing into his crotch. 

He bucked his hips up, almost choking her as he came in hot, thick spurts down her throat. She swallowed eagerly, licking every last drop off him while he grunted low in his throat. 

 

"The hell was that for?" He asked, one hand across his face. 

"No reason," she shrugged. In truth she just wanted to do it, maybe hope that someone would hear him, know that he was spoken for. She wasn't blind to the way the girl ghouls looked at him. If they were going to stay in Underworld? She was going to be sure everyone knew she was his.


	15. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo settle into their new home

Charon sees Magdalene into Tulip's supply room before heading up to the Ninth Circle for a drink. He hasn't been back there since he shot Ahzrukhal. He's almost a little concerned that the place will be hostile. Instead, he's greeted with nods and waves. He's forgotten that, when he wasn't being a jackass on his old employers orders, he was reasonably well liked. 

Settling himself at the bar, he accepts the bottle of whiskey set in front of him. 

 

"Bagged yourself a smoothskin, huh?" The guy next to him smirks. 

"What's it to you?" Charon doesn't even need to look at the guy to know he's a slime ball. The kind that think girls like Magdalene are free game. 

 

"Well, not every day a pretty girl like her comes along here with one of our kind." 

"Say what you want, you and I are nothing alike," Charon shifts his shotgun absently, making the gesture as menacing yet casual as possible. He knows that Underworld, while safer than the Wasteland for them, still holds a low threat for Magdalene. Mostly in the form of creeps like this one. Thankfully, he's not stupid, and takes the hint. 

"No. Course not. Sorry, man."   
Charon nods and turns back to his whiskey. 

 

Thinking of Magdalene on her own in Underworld puts a sour taste in his mouth; slapping down a few caps, he hauls himself off the rickety bar stool and heads back out. He shouldn't have left her alone; even with Tulip, anyone could fuck with her. And he's not there to protect her. He doesn't realise he's almost running until he finds himself outside the supply room a lot faster than he should have. He opens the door to find her sitting on the counter, legs swinging as she fiddles with what looks like an ordinary 10mm - is she modifying it? 

 

"Hey!" She fixes him with a broad smile when she sees him, "you're back early!" 

He crosses the space to her in a few strides, setting his hands on either side of her waist. 

"What's wrong?" She asks, confused, looking up at him.

 

"Nothing. I was just, worried about you." He shrugs, presses a kiss to her forehead. 

"Worried?" She blinks, "but you said it's safe here."

"It's safe as long as we're together." He corrects and she smiles.

"Guess I just won't leave your sight then."

"That would be preferable." He says, kissing her forehead again.

Her smile widens. "You can do better than that, big guy."

Rolling his eyes, he leans down and kisses her properly, in full view of anyone who might walk past or into the store. He doesn't care.


	16. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the honeymoon period

Over the few days it takes them to settle into a routine in their new - well. New to her - home, Magdalene almost thinks she's off the hook. That Charon will forget that he doesn't fully trust her, and she won't have to spend her days convincing him with all the love and affection she can muster that she is, in fact, trustworthy. In fact she's almost getting used to peace in their relationship. Until -

"You're still an asshole, Mags." He says it with his arm wrapped around her, his dick still glistening with her wetness, so it's not as harsh as it could be. 

 

"Um, rude." She looks up at him, "what was that for?"

"Just because you and I are together now... Doesn't mean you aren't still an asshole." He comments and she scowls, sitting up, dragging the blankets around herself.

"Way to kill the mood, Charon." She huffs. 

 

"You needed reminding." He shrugs, watching her crawl out of bed. 

"Yeah, don't you think it's a little shitty to remind me RIGHT after we finish making love?" She asks, shoving on her clothes a little too hastily. Suddenly, she's overwhelmed with the desire to just leave the room before she does something stupid like cry, because he's seriously hurt her feelings. Before he can answer, she's out the room, letting the door slam after her. 

 

She knows she has to prove herself still, knows he's not exactly good at being tactful, but the comment still hurts. The timing was shitty, and to go from feeling so safe and loved one moment to so unwanted the next - she's going to cry. Finding one of the empty rooms close to the Ninth Circle, she considers going in, but remembers Charon's warning about not going anywhere she could be cornered. Swiping her eyes furiously, she heads into the bar, hoping the inhabiting ghouls won't stare at her too much.


	17. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magdalene's sudden intolerance to Rad Away sparks concern in Charon, who recalls rumours he heard years before.

Three things hit Charon at once. First, that he's said something at the wrong time. AGAIN. Secondly, that he really needs to try and read her body language better. He's never been that great at it. Third, and most troubling, she forgot her Rad Away again. He's not sure what will happen to her if she doesn't take it, but he doesn't like the worry in his stomach at the thought. 

He's heard stories, over the years living among ghouls. Whispers and rumours of born ghouls, hybrids born from the assault of human slaves. It turns his stomach. Does Magdalene even KNOW that's a possibility? He shudders, gets to his feet, dressing quickly. He needs to apologise to her more pressingly than any other matter. As much as he's needed to point it out, that she isn't off the hook and her karma is still quite frankly appalling, she was right in saying it was the wrong time. 

 

He's made it as far as the hallway before he finds her walking towards him. More like stumbling. He curses internally. Sometimes Charon forgets she can neck an entire bottle of whiskey if she deems it necessary. 

 

"Are you drunk?" He asks flatly. She shakes her head.

"I had one drink then I got sick so they kicked me out." She frowns, "I don't feel so good. I'm going back to sleep." 

She's oddly pale. Ignoring her protests, Charon lifts her effortless and carries her back to their room. Despite feeling warm to the touch, she's shivering, so he tucks the blankets around her then strips down to just his leather pants and crawls in beside her, knowing his weird body heat will keep her warm.

 

"I think I'm sick," she says.

"Yeah, and you forgot your Rad Away again," it's the sixth day on a row she's stopped using it after sex. 

"It made me feel sick when I last took it." She says in a small voice and he pinches what remains of his nose.

"Why didn't you TELL me?!" He demands.

"Because I didn't think it was a big deal? Rad Away is disgusting. Everyone knows that." She shrugs, burying her face in his chest. He still doesn't understand why she does that: he's fairly sure ghoul smell isn't exactly appealing. 

 

"Rejecting Rad Away is a bad thing, Mags," he sighs, thinking yet again of the horrible whispers and rumours he's heard over the years.

"Radiation sickness?" She asks. 

 

"No. Something else, potentially." Charon has no idea who he could even ask about the hybrids. The last person he heard talking about them was Ahzrukhal. Who the fuck was he talking to, again? Maybe it was Carol. 

 

Either way, he doesn't want to even mention the possibility to Mags. He thinks she'll be horrified, beg him to find a way to get the damn thing OUT of her if that's the case. Even more terrifying to him is the idea that she might want to keep it, if the myth is even true. He's seen born ghouls before. They aren't exactly on his level of freaky, but he can't imagine carrying a hybrid fetus is particularly good for a human woman. 

 

He has to take a deep breath. She's probably just sick. Smoothskins get sick all the time. Maybe it's Carol's cooking, or something she drank in the bar. He hates leaving her alone, but by the time he's processed everything, she's fast asleep. Carol is his best bet for information, so that's where he heads, hoping to god he's just overreacting.


	18. Lone

The bitter taste rose in Magdalene's throat again; swearing lowly, she bolted from the bed, barely making it to the metal bucket Charon had left on the chair. Where the fuck was he anyway? It was so unlike him to just take off on her, especially when she'd been so ill the last few days. 

 

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" She muttered; hell, was she bloated? She was usually so flat in the stomach, considering the Wasteland's general lack of food. Even when there WAS food, it wasn't exactly appetising. So how the fuck did she explain that? She was just mulling it over when Charon practically burst into the room, trailed by Carol. 

 

"Where have you been?" Magdalene asked - more like choked. 

"Busy," Charon informed her, "you need to listen. We know what's wrong with you." 

Perking up at once, she sat back on the bed and eyed the pair of ghouls. 

"Hit me with it."

"From the description of your symptoms - and just from looking at you, to be honest - it looks like you were right, Charon," Carol murmured, "it'll be the first here in Underworld..."

 

"What will be the first what in Underworld?" Magdalene demanded in her usual style. 

"Sometimes, when humans and ghouls... Have relations, and don't use precautions like Rad Away, it can result in what we call a born ghoul." Carol explained. 

"What the hell is a born ghoul?" Magdalene's eyes widened. They weren't suggesting - were they?

"A hybrid," Charon said quietly, "half human, half ghoul. They're rare but they exist, usually further north. Usually they're born to slaves or prostitutes..." 

 

"Wait." Magdalene held her hands up in the universal gesture for 'stop', which still seemed to be in usage long after the great kaboom. "Are you telling me that I'm pregnant?" 

"That's one way to put it." Charon muttered. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I assume you're going to start being angry about it any moment, asking how I could possibly put you in this situation?" He sighed, "I'm sorry, Mags, I never even considered-" he stopped at the expression on her face, "Mags?"

 

"Why am I so... Big already?" 

"Hybrid DNA," Carol said promptly, "instead of nine months you'll be pregnant for around nine weeks. Looking at you? You've got two weeks on this already. The settlement where I used to live? I've seen hybrid births." 

"Am I gonna die?" Magdalene asked, suddenly afraid.

"No, no, you'll be fine. You just need to drink irradiated water." Carol smiled at her, "I'll let Charon explain the rest. I feel like I'm intruding a little." With an awkward inclination of her head, she took her leave. 

 

"How long have you suspected?" Magdalene asked at once. 

"A few days. I needed to do some research. To be sure. Mags, I'm so sorry, I never even thought -"

"Charon." She placed her hands on his waist, "it's fine. It's okay. This is okay. I'm not mad. Maybe... Maybe this is a good thing." 

"You... Want to keep it?"

"Don't you?" She asked, suddenly afraid she'd read him wrong.

"I - I never really thought you'd want to." He sat down on the bed, looking entirely bewildered, "am I- is it allowed?"

"Is what allowed, hon?" She put her hands on his face, afraid he would freak out. 

"Something like me. Is it allowed, for me to have a child?"

"Of course it is." She smiled serenely, "you're going to be the best father ever. If you want to be, that is."

"Magdalene. Of course I want to be." He pulled her cautiously into his arms, "of course I do." 

They stayed that way for a while.


	19. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name games

Charon likes how peaceful Mags looks when she's asleep next to him. He's noticed whenever she sleeps alone, she doesn't look that way. It's like her subconscious mind needs to be close to him, a concept that's unfamiliar but not unwelcome to him. He supposes he'd better get used to physical affection more often. At least that, he's good at. Better than he is at talking feelings over, anyway. With three weeks to go until her due date, he's definitely savouring every moment he gets with her. Just in case. 

 

"You okay?"   
At some point, she must have woken up. 

"I'm fine," he assures her, "just thinking." 

"Charon," she says quietly, "stop worrying. I'll be fine." 

"I know," he sighs, "I'm just..."

"Still think I'm too much of an asshole?" She sighs with a hint of bitterness to her tone. He shakes his head.

 

"Just because you've done bad shit doesn't mean you'll be a terrible parent." He says, and truly he believes that. Mostly because by that logic, he won't be either. Sometimes he hates how in tune she is with him.

"Hey." She says, "you can't help the bad things you've done. You didn't get a choice. I did." She shrugs, "like I said when we first found out; you're going to be an excellent father." She winces and his hands fly down to her stomach, afraid she's in pain. 

 

"What's wrong?" He asks. 

"Nothing," Magdalene assures him, her hands touching his, "she's just... Moving a lot today. Restless." 

Sure enough, he can feel the child moving inside her. If he's honest, it creeps him out a little, even if he did almost cry the first time he felt it. 

"Wait." He pauses, "she?"

"Just a feeling," Mags smiles up at him. 

 

He considers for a moment.   
"Kid's gonna need a name," he says, "getting close to the date..."

"Yeah..." She nods, "but I thought... Maybe you'd like to choose?"

He wasn't expecting that; it takes him a moment to think. 

"Well if your feeling is off, and we have a boy... Maybe you'd want to name him after your father?" He says slowly, a little afraid of how she'll react to the idea. 

"Yeah," she says softly, "I'd like that... And... If it's a girl?"

He pauses, thinking about it. The name rattles around in the back of his head for a moment before he speaks.   
"Clarissa." 

"Clarissa?" Mags tests the name out slowly, "yeah. I like it. Why Clarissa, though?"

Charon has to think for a moment, but when he speaks he knows it's the truth, "I think that was my mother's name."


	20. Lone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more of Charon's history, his fears, and some reassurance from Magdalene.

Magdalene pauses as the sentence leaves Charon's mouth almost hesitantly. 

"Your mother?"

"I think so..." He hesitates again, "I can't really remember... But I'm certain that was her name. Her hair was red, like mine." 

She can tell just those memories are a struggle for him; she wraps an arm around him, hoping to soothe him. She knows how hard it is for him to remember things sometimes, and how anxious bursts of memory can make him. 

 

"It's good that you can remember her," Mags says softly, "do you know what happened to her?" 

Charon shakes his head. "She was only... Forty maybe, when the bombs dropped. I never told her I was court marshalled. I didn't want her to know what I'd done-"

"So... She could be alive still? A ghoul somewhere?" 

 

"I guess so," Charon shrugs, "I like to think that, sometimes. Even though I doubt she'd want anything to do with me."

"Don't be stupid," Mags shakes her head at him, "she'd be proud of you." 

"For what? For being a killer?"

"For protecting people who need it, even if they don't deserve it." Mags says promptly. He rolls his eyes. 

 

"Right. I wouldn't be her son anymore. I don't even know my own name, Mags." He's getting that panicky look in his eyes, the way he does when he locks onto something. 

"Your name is Charon," Magdalene says softly, "you're going to have a son named James or a daughter named Clarissa. You have me. You call me Mags. I'm going to be a better person for you. To prove to you that I can be." 

She watches the panic in his eyes fade away slowly, feels his heart rate slow back to normal. 

 

"She'd be proud of you," she assures him gently, "I promise."

"You know something?" He says, "I think she would have liked you." 

"Despite everything?' She asks, chewing her lip nervously.

"If we'd met in a better world," he shrugs, "though who knows. Maybe this world is better suited to us." 

She smiles faintly, feels the baby kick and stretch again as Charon speaks, "I'd say so." 

 

"Why does he or she keep doing that?"

"She likes your voice," Mags explains with a broad smile. Charon blinks in disbelief.

"Listen, Mags, I've been thinking." He says, suddenly feeling the need to voice the concerns that have been eating away at him. 

"Oh?"

"What if... What if I scare her?" He looks nervous, ashamed almost, "what if she looks just like you? What if she thinks I'm a monster?"

 

Mags surveys him for a moment, as though contemplating an answer.

"You really think that's gonna be a thing? Even if she looks like me, Charon, you're her father. You won't scare her. I promise you, you aren't a monster in my eyes and you won't be in hers either." 

"You think so?"

"I know so." Mags nods, and the baby kicks again as if to affirm her statement. "See?"

She can tell he doesn't, not yet, but he will. She's certain that once the baby is born, his fears of parenthood will dissipate. Hopefully.


	21. Charon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, welcome to the penultimate chapter of Beauty's Beast. I hope you've enjoyed reading, and I'll see you in the sequel!

Two days overdue. Magdalene is two days overdue and it's driving Charon crazy. It doesn't help that she's been in labor for five hours now, and Carol won't let him in the room. If he had less respect for Carol and Tulip, he'd have lost his shit and stayed in there anyway. 

 

It's only when Mags starts calling for him that they relent, allowing him into the room. She's so small and pale, but she's almost there, or so Carol keeps telling her. He hands her water, Rad-X, anything she needs to get through this. He knows she's been afraid of this moment, ever since it hit her that her mother died in childbirth. Luckily, Charon has scavenged as much equipment as he can, borrowing some from the Brotherhood of Steel, who are perfectly happy, it seems, to do favours for Magdalene. 

 

He hates seeing her in so much pain, agony he can't fix or destroy. He takes to pacing the room unless she needs him, needs to squeeze his hand and then apologise despite him barely feeling it. He counts two hours before the shrill cries of an infant fill the room. 

 

At first, he's almost afraid to look, afraid his son or daughter will be cursed with the trademark appearance of a ghoul. That, and he's focusing on Mags, who, aside from exhausted, seems unharmed. 

Tulip passes the baby over to Mags, who takes - him? Her? - carefully. 

"A girl," Tulip confirms to Mags, who smiles weakly, looking down at the baby with surprise and relief in her expression. 

 

Charon dares to look down too, to take his first look at his daughter. It strikes him how weird that is to think. The baby peers up at him with surprisingly alert eyes - his eyes, the same faded blue. Tufts of blood red hair peek out of the blanket. It's her skin that is the biggest surprise and relief. It's as smooth as Magdalene's, only a little pinker than the average smoothskin, more like the trademark tan of a ghoul. 

"Here," Mags nudges him, "you wanna hold her?"

It turns out that, yes, in fact, he does want to. Carefully he takes Clarissa from Mags; she's so small she can practically fit in his hand. 

 

Charon doesn't cry, or so he tells himself and others. He only got close to it when he felt Clarissa move for the first time when she was still in Mags. It turns out that yes, he does, in fact, cry. Because looking down at his daughter, and then over at Mags, his heart feels fuller than it ever has. Seeing the way Mags looks at him and at their baby, it's all the proof he needs for now that she's worth sticking by. That what they have might just be the closest thing to a fairytale that you get in the wasteland. And that? That's worth holding onto, no matter what.


	22. Clarissa (Epilogue)

She plays on the staircase while her parents watch. Charon leans against the stone wall, shotgun over his shoulder, biting what remains of his nails, trying to look bored. In reality he can't tear his eyes off his daughter, although Mags frequently reminds him that there are worse things in the world than scraped knees. She's right, of course. But that doesn't stop him from being protective.   
Magdalene sits beside her, showing the toddler how to properly fire a slingshot. The girl's blood red hair is held back with two little clips; her parents were afraid at first that her hair would fall out like her ghoul relatives. It never did. She seemed faster and more resilient than human children, too. 

 

Clarissa bites her lip, focusing on the target across the hallway. It frustrates her - she wants to be just as good at hitting things as her parents. 

"Don't worry, sweetie," Magdalene reassures her after the third failed attempt, "you'll get better with practise. Before you were born, when I first met your dad, I could barely aim a gun at all. He had to do all the work." 

"I still do," Charon grumbles, but the ghost of a smile on his face reassures Clarissa that her parents are only joking. 

"One day, you'll be able to take out a super mutant with two bullets." Charon reassures the child, lifting her onto his shoulders, "although hopefully, if your mom has any say in things, the world will be a better place by the time you're grown." 

Magdalene smiles. Puts her hand in his. "It's always a good place when you're here with me. Both of you." 

Clarissa is still too young to understand all of what her parents are saying, but she understands their tones, their gestures. Understands that in that moment, she is something precious. Something loved. That her parents might look different - her dad a tall ghoul like Tulip and Willow, her mom small and smooth skinned and pale - but they love each other, and her, no matter what the future may hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has read, left kudos or comments, or just simply read the whole fic. I hope you enjoyed it; I look forward to bringing the sequel along. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my in progress AU, Details And Drug Paraphernalia. 
> 
> With love,   
> Nepeta.


End file.
